


Bedtime Stories

by lauawill



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 21:06:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4935361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lauawill/pseuds/lauawill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another moment in the "Time On My Hands" universe. This could be considered corny, and should definitely be considered a babyfic. Enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedtime Stories

**Author's Note:**

> You need not have read "Time On My Hands," "Available Light," or "Never Young" for this to make sense...but it would probably help. This might be on the corny side. You'll have to tell me. Enjoy.

**"Bedtime Stories"**

**October 4, 2015**

                “Bedtime, boys.”

                “No!” My older son barks the expected protest, which carries to me across our spacious quarters from the boys’ bedroom, two rooms away.

                “It’s too early,” my younger son adds solemnly, and then, “and it's Mama's turn to read us a story.”

                “Mama is tired from taking care of the ship all day, and your sister since we got home,” my husband replies in a firm but patient tone. “We need to let her rest.”

                “But Nina’s asleep now,” my younger son, a pragmatist even at six years old, replies. “Mama is free to read to us.”

                “And Nina’s only a baby anyway,” his brother sneers. “She doesn’t _do_ anything yet. Taking care of her is easy.”

                I roll my eyes and shift my sleeping daughter, who has spent the evening shrieking out her displeasure at the day's upheaval, higher on my shoulder. Chakotay chuckles softly. “Taking care of babies is no picnic, Igasho.”

                “I could do it,” Igasho counters. “I know I could.”

                “Think so, huh?” Chakotay says. “The next time Nina needs a change of clothes, you can help me  get her wiggly arms in her sleeves, okay?”

                Izel, the younger of our twins by twelve minutes that his elder brother will never let him forget, giggles. “Igasho can’t even get his _own_ pajamas on straight. Look.”

                “I can too!” Igasho cries.

                “Your pants are on backwards.”

                I hear Chakotay let out a long-suffering sigh. “Izel Edward Janeway, stop teasing your brother and get in bed. Here, Igasho. Let me help you.”

                “Okay.” I can hear the resignation in the boy’s voice, and the fatigue. My boys, like their sister and the rest of the _Voyager_ children, have spent the bulk of the day in the ship's child care center while we rode out a beast of an ion storm, and they’re both tired and a little frazzled from all the excitement. Chakotay, as always, has been patient and kind with them, accepting their weariness and the crankiness it’s brought out in both of them.

                He’s an amazing father. I think I always knew he would be, but watching him in action these last few years has been…revelatory. He’s a creative tactician, a respected leader and a gifted teacher, but the man was born to be a Dad. Without even peeking into the room, I can picture him gently righting Igasho’s backward pajamas, his quiet voice and loving hands soothing the boy’s jangled nerves, then tucking both our sons into their little beds and pressing soft kisses to their foreheads.

                I strain my ears for the sound of rustling bedclothes and whispered goodnights, but before Chakotay can call for lights out and leave the room, Izel’s clear, commanding voice reaches my ears. “A story,” he says. “Before we sleep, we want a story.”

                “A story!” Igasho echoes. “Coyote and the Antelope! No, wait, Coyote Brings the Fire!”

                I smile. These are two of Igasho’s favorite tales, told over and over again since my sons were babies. I’m sure Chakotay will be only too happy to oblige the request.

                But he surprises me. “I’m very tired too,” he says quietly. The rocking chair in the boys’ room creaks under his weight, and I realize he must be just as exhausted as the rest of us from fighting the effects of the ion storm all day. “How about I read to you instead?” he suggests.

                There is an astonished silence from the boys’ room. I nearly always reach for a book when I tuck them in, but Chakotay has rarely read to the boys, preferring to spin tales of his own making from his heritage, and mine, and the traditions of many of our crewmates and friends. The boys must be as surprised as I am, but then Izel, my little rationalist, speaks up. “This one,” he says firmly. I imagine that he’s pulled a book from the shelf in their room, which we keep well-stocked with picture books and basic science references and the favorite children's novels we will share with them when they're older.

                “Are you sure?” Chakotay asks. “It's a little scary. Maybe we should wait until you're bigger."

                Igasho speaks up again. "Miral says Uncle Tom reads it to her every night."

                "She already told us everything," Izel adds. "We won't be scared."

                I hear my husband's nimble fingers tap the cover of the book. "You know this is only the first one, right? And once we start, there's no going back. You'll want to hear a little more every night."

                There is a small silence. "Can we still hear about Coyote sometimes?" Igasho asks.  "And T'Kay and the fairy people? The deenay shay?"

                "The _daoine sidhe_ ," Chakotay corrects. "Of course you can. Whenever you want to take a break."

                "Then it's time for these," Izel commands.

                My husband chuckles. “Aye, sir,” he says. “Settle in.” He clears his throat and begins to speak, and a day I haven’t thought about in years comes back to me, so vividly that it almost brings tears to my eyes. The memory is so clear that it seems it only happened a few moments ago, not half a lifetime and half a universe away.

                It was the fifth year of our journey, months  after we'd left the Malon and The Void behind. Chakotay was still reeling a bit from his traumatic experience with Chaotic Space and wasn't quite himself yet. I'd never seen my trusted First Officer so frightened as he had been in Chaotic Space, when he thought he was on the verge of going completely mad. His fear had shocked me to the core. I'd seen the man charge into much more dangerous situations without a hint of fear for his body. But when his mind was at stake, his courage had faltered, and he was taking a long time to recover from the experience.  So when we stumbled across the Chimtat, a warp-capable race that was happy to trade with us for supplies, he held down the fort on _Voyager_ while Tuvok and Carey and I beamed down to open formal diplomatic ties and negotiate with the Chimtat's central government. Chakotay hadn't even protested much when I gave the orders, more evidence that he hadn't put the terror of Chaotic Space behind him.

                The Chimtat were a friendly enough people, though they towered over Tuvok and Carey and me and reminded me of nothing less than sentient polar bears, right down to the thick fur and massive muzzles full of vicious-looking teeth. They offered us planetside accommodations throughout the lengthy negotiation process, but  they weren't so welcoming that I felt comfortable asking for shore leave for the crew. But that was probably just as well. Although it was Class M, the Chimtat homeworld was an icy planet -- no doubt the evolutionary cause of the inhabitants' appearance. The place was barely hospitable to life along the equator and completely uninhabitable, at least for us _Voyagers_ , at the poles. The Chimtat themselves were accustomed to it, and thought nothing of settling the three of us in a building that seemed barely heated to Carey and me. It must have been torturous for Tuvok.

                At the end of the first day, Harry beamed extreme cold-weather gear down to us. Heavier parkas, gloves and hats, insulated boots, hot _plomeek_ soup for Tuvok and strong coffee for Carey and me. At the end of the second day, our Chimtat hosts asked if we'd like to beam back up to the ship for the night, but Tuvok had noticed something. The Chimtat diplomatic staff seemed to be sizing up our reaction to the climate and altering their offerings accordingly. Carey chimed in that it reminded him of how some warrior races might change their level of respect depending on how strong they thought a person or people were, regardless of the circumstances of their meeting.

                In other words, the Chimtat were withholding supplies because they thought we were weak.

                So we politely declined their offer to let us beam back to our ship, and retired to our three cold, drafty little rooms.

                The third day of negotiations brought with it a snowstorm the likes of which I hadn't seen since I'd done cold-weather survival training in Glacier National Park. The three of us trudged our way across the diplomatic compound as if we were traversing the Rura Penthe tundra. By the end of the day every bone in my body ached from the cold. I had shivered so much I felt as though I'd run a marathon. Tuvok was practically a Vulcan popsicle, the poor man. I tried to send him back to the ship, but he wouldn't hear of it. He did agree to accept a personal heater for his room, which Harry beamed down only after the furry Chimtat butler had retired to his own quarters for the night.

                As I was falling asleep, wrapped in thermal underwear and three thick blankets to protect myself against the long, cold night, my comm badge bleeped.

                _"Chakotay to Janeway."_

                We'd already had our usual evening briefing with the senior staff, so I couldn't imagine what Chakotay wanted at the late hour. Even worse, I had to reach out from under the blankets to retrieve my comm, which allowed a sizeable draft of cold air into my blanket cocoon.

                "Janeway here," I answered, the words escaping on a puff of breath that formed in the air around me. "What is it, Commander?"

                There was a silence on the other end of the line. _"I just wanted to let you know that the first cargo transport is set for tomorrow at 0800, ship's time."_

                "Thank you, Commander."

                _"Are you all right?"_

                I blew on my fingertips to warm them. "Besides freezing to death, I'm fine."

                _"Harry told me he sent a heater down for Tuvok. Do you want one, too?"_

                I sighed. "I'd love one, but I don't want to risk it. The Chimtat might be willing to believe Tuvok isn't equipped to handle the extreme cold because he's from a desert planet. I'm not sure they'd be so understanding with me."

                _"They sound like a charming race."_

                "They're really not that bad," I said. "They're just very attuned to recognizing weakness. We don't want to risk them finding out about the heaters and deeming us unworthy of their help."

                _"I can't imagine anyone finding you unworthy of anything, Kathryn,"_ he said, and his words, as exaggerated and frankly inappropriate as they were, warmed me from head to toe. They also told me he was either in his quarters or in his office -- in any case, away from listening ears.

                "Charmer," I said, and knew he'd hear the smile in my voice. "How are things upstairs?"

                _"Well, B'Elanna's already got big plans for the mineral supplies we'll be getting in the morning. Something about upgrading the warp core insulation plating."_

                I nodded, even though I knew he couldn't see it. "She's been wanting to do that for a while."

                _"She says this will give her the last of the raw materials she needs to replicate new panels. She's looking forward to getting to work."_

                "And I'm looking forward to fewer core breaches."

                He chuckled. _"So say we all."_

                "Tom and Harry staying out of trouble?"

                _"Harry is. He's hip-deep in rehearsals with the Kimtones for the upcoming Prixin dance."_

"Dance?" I gasped. "Who authorized a dance?"

                _"You did, Kathryn. When Tom and Neelix brought in their plans for the party to your Ready Room almost a month ago. If I remember right, you were in the middle of critiquing Naomi's latest art project. I believe your exact words were, 'Whatever you want, gentlemen. Just keep it tasteful.'"_

                I rubbed my forehead with my numb fingertips. "Did I really say that?"

                _"You really did."_

"So we're having a dance."

                _"Apparently so."_

                For just a moment, I allowed myself to imagine walking onto the dance floor hand-in-hand with my handsome First Officer, wrapping my arms around him, resting my head on his broad chest as we moved together to the music. The thought made me melancholy. As much as I cared for the man, as much as I loved him even then, I knew we'd have to be careful at that particular function. We'd have to keep the crew in between us as much as possible, lest we find ourselves facing a difficult situation yet again.

                _"Kathryn?"_

                I shook myself out of my wistful contemplation. I knew without even having to ask that he was doing the same thing -- imagining us together, but setting the vision aside. "Tell them to go easy on the spiked punch this year, will you? I don't relish the idea of having to roll my First Officer back to his quarters  again."

                He laughed, a rich, heady sound even over the comm line. _"In my defense, I got to the party late and no one told me the punch was spiked until I'd already had two glasses on an empty stomach. But I'll be sure to pass it along."_

                "Anything else I should know about?"

                _"Not really."_ He paused. _"Are you sure you're warm enough, Kathryn?"_

                As always, the concern in his voice both discomfited and charmed me. "You can hear my teeth chattering, can't you?"   

                _"Yes."_

                I blew on my hands again. "I'm all right. It's cold in here, but not terrible. I've slept in worse conditions." I glanced out the window, where snow was piled against the pane. "It's really very beautiful down here."

                _"Tell me about it?"_

                With a sigh, I burrowed more deeply into the nest of blankets. "It snowed all day today. Real snow, Chakotay! It's been too long since I've seen real snow."

                _"Five years."_

                "Five years," I acknowledged. "I didn't love being out in it when we had to walk back and forth to the negotiations, but it certainly is beautiful to look at."

                _"Will you take some holophotos for me?"_

                "Of course. Maybe we can even program the Holodeck with snow for the Prixin party."               

                _"As long as there's no ice on the dance floor."_

                I laughed. "Oh, I don't know. Between spiked punch and an icy dance floor, we could make it quite a party."

                _"I'll warn you: I have two left feet. You'd have to take me home in a hoverchair."_

                The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. "If that's what it took to get you home safely, I'd do it in a heartbeat."               

                We were both silent for a long time. I held my breath, half afraid of how he would respond, and half anticipating his words. I imagined him tugging at his ear, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks.

                _"Someday I'll hold you to that,"_ he said softly.

                "I'm sure you will," I said. "Although I don't believe for an instant that you have two left feet."

                _"You've never seen me dance."_

                "But I've seen you box," I countered. "A man who moves that gracefully in the ring can dance."

                He laughed softly. _"I guess you'll just have to wait and find out, Kathryn."_

                "I guess I will," I said, and thought, _One dance won't kill us_. _It doesn't have to mean anything if we don't want it to._ For just an instant, I begged the Universe for one moment with him, one memory I could cling to until we got home. I shivered in anticipation of that moment, of letting him lead me around a dance floor. I did not yet know that the Prixin dance would be cancelled due to our encounter with the _Equinox_ , and that the subsequent disagreement would almost destroy even our friendship. Before I could give in to the fantasy any further, I decided to change the subject. "How are you feeling?" Three days before, when I'd left the ship to negotiate with the Chimtat _,_ I had seen so much fatigue in his demeanor that I'd almost ordered him off-duty and left Tom Paris in command.

                He sighed. _"Better,"_ he said.

                "You should be taking it easy."

                _"I am. I'm doing your job, remember?"_

                "Watch it, Mister," I laughed, and he chuckled along with me. "But please tell me you're not overdoing it."

                _"I'm not. I was actually just getting ready for bed."_

                So help me, I hadn't realized he was that long off-shift. Being planetside for three days had altered my sense of ship's time. "I didn't think it was that late."

                _"It's almost 2300 up here. I've already eaten my dubious dinner in the Mess Hall, gone nine rounds with a Romulan sparring partner, consumed my chamomile tea, and picked up a good book."_

                I stacked up all those clues and came to an inevitable conclusion. "You're having trouble sleeping again, aren't you?"

                _"I…yes."_

                More than once since his encounter in Chaotic Space, Chakotay had had to resort to a hypo from the Doc just to get enough rest to keep him on his feet for an eight-hour shift. "The nightmares?"

                _"Yes,"_ he admitted, and I could hear the resignation in his voice _."But they're different now. I don't dream about the aliens from Chaotic Space anymore."_

                "What do you dream about?"

                He let out a gusty breath. _"I see myself the way my great-grandfather was. But I'm not at home. I'm here on_ Voyager _. And because I'm not right in the head…I put you in danger. You and the crew."_

"That won't happen," I said. "The Doc reversed the damage. You're fine now." I wished I were back on the ship with him so I could place my hands on his shoulders, transferring some of my conviction to him.

                _"I know."_

                "Even after Chaotic Space, I still trust you with my life and the lives of the crew, Chakotay. You know that."

_"I know you do, and I appreciate that. But I've been doing a lot of thinking."_

                "About?" I prompted.

                _"Family,"_ he said in a subdued voice. _"Specifically my great-grandfather and the genetic defect we share. I can't help but wonder… Is it something I'm doomed to pass on?"_

                I clutched a blanket to my chest, my heart hurting for him…and for myself, though I was not yet willing to let myself feel why. "It might be. But even if it is, it's something that can be taken care of with gene therapy, just like your parents did for you."

                _"I know, but…_ " I heard a chair creak beneath his bulk. _"What if there's something else lurking in me that I don't even know about yet?"_

                "Then we'll deal with it when it manifests itself," I said, trying to project a certainty I didn't quite feel. My First Officer's greatest terrors had been laid bare in Chaotic Space. I'd never seen him so frightened, or so determined to overcome his fears in order to secure our survival, even if it meant he would be permanently debilitated. "We'll face it together and do whatever it takes to keep you healthy."

                _"And if it is something that can be…passed on? Hypothetically."_

                I swallowed hard. There was no way to pretend I didn't know what he was intimating. "Hypothetically, you and your partner will face that together, too," I said. He stayed silent, waiting…and I found I couldn't deny him this small comfort. "I'm sure she will work with you to ensure that your children are as healthy and happy as they can be, with or without gene therapy."

                I heard a small sound I couldn't identify, maybe a soft chuckle, maybe a quiet gasp. _"Hypothetically, Kathryn,"_ he whispered, _"I'm certain those children will be nothing but healthy, happy, and beautiful."_

I blinked back tears. "Hypothetically, I agree with all my heart." I listened to the sound of his breath in the quiet of my room, the comm cradled in my hands. "You're tired," I said, painfully aware that it was time to pull back from this brink yet again.

                _"I am. I'll be glad to turn the Big Chair back over to you."_

                "I'll be glad to be there." A gust of wind rattled the windows of my little room. I was tired, too, but unwilling to let him go just yet. "I should let you try to get some sleep."

                _"It's all right if you want to talk some more. I was just going to read for a little while anyway."_

                "What are you reading?"

                _"Oh, uh,"_ he stammered. _"Just something Tom suggested."_

                Instantly curious, I sat up in bed. "Tom suggested a book to you?"

                _"Well, yes. I guess he overheard me telling the Doc that I was still having trouble sleeping. So he downloaded some books to a PADD for me."_

                I waited for him to tell me what the books were, but he remained stubbornly silent. "What books?"

                _"Just…something Tom thought might help me relax and take my mind off things. A series. Some of his favorites, he says."_

                Again, a long and uncomfortable silence. I found myself smiling at his subterfuge. "Chakotay? What books did Tom give you to read?"

                He cleared his throat. _"I'd really rather not say."_

Why in the world would he be embarrassed to tell me what Tom had suggested for him? I wracked my brain. Something to take his mind off things, something to help him relax, something Tom suggested…

                Suddenly chagrined, I felt my face redden. "Oh!" I exclaimed. "Ah, never mind!"

                _"No!"_ he yelped. _"No, Kathryn, not that kind of… Spirits. No. Not that."_ He paused, and I could imagine him weighing his words carefully. _"They're children's classics."_

                I had to put my hand over my mouth to quell the sudden bubble of laughter and delight that wanted to spring from me. "Children's books? Really?"

                _"Classics,"_ Chakotay corrected hastily. _"Children's classics. I haven't read them in years. I'd forgotten about them, to be honest."_

                Again, I tried to imagine what in all the worlds he was talking about. "Chakotay, do I have to order you to disclose this information?"

                _"No,"_ he said, sighed heavily, and told me what he was reading.

                "Oh," I breathed, surprised and delighted and wistful all at once. "My parents read those to me when I was a girl."

                _"Tom said the same thing. He said they're best when read out loud._ "

                "They are."

                _"No one ever read them to me."_

                A wave of sadness overwhelmed me at the thought. He'd told me once that his parents had withheld from him a number of Earth-centric cultural artifacts that they felt weren't sufficiently traditional. "But you have read them?"

                _"I read everything that I could get my hands on when I was a boy. You know that. Even things my parents probably didn't want me reading."_

                "And you're rereading them now, because of Tom?" I prompted.

                _"Because of_ Voyager _,"_ he said. _"Because of my experiences in Chaotic Space. And because honestly, I think we can never have enough reminders that good can triumph over evil, and there's no power in the Universe as strong as love."_

                My heart fluttered like butterflies' wings in my chest. Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to hear his quiet voice spin the epic tale of kindness and compassion, bravery and adventure, great loss and great love. "Chakotay, will you read to me?"

                His breath caught. _"It's been a long time since I told you a story, Kathryn,"_ he said, and I knew both of us were remembering the circumstances and meaning of that story from so long ago. _"Are you sure?"_

"Yes," I said, and switched off the light next to my bed. "Please read to me, Chakotay."

                _"Okay. Just a minute_." I listened to him putter around his quarters for a moment, order the lights to a low setting, and slide under the patterned blanked that covered his bed. _"Ready?"_

                I pulled my blankets up to my chin. "Ready."

                As his voice wrapped around me that night, warming me in the darkness, I vowed that someday, I would hear him tell this story again. Maybe not soon, maybe not under the circumstances I so desperately hoped for, but someday. I vowed to myself and to him that I would get us home before it was too late to enjoy the story in the way the author intended it and the way it had been shared for centuries: Passed from one generation to the next, an ancient bedtime story made new with each and every retelling.

                The memory, the sad wistfulness of it, comes back to me as I sit and listen to Chakotay, my beloved husband, read to our little sons while our infant daughter sleeps in my arms. It took almost ten years for that wish to come to fruition, and now that it has I find the moment almost overwhelming. Raising a family aboard a starship may not be the easiest thing we've ever done together, but it is one of the most significant if only because for a long time, we were both afraid it would never happen.

                His quiet voice winds down the chapter: _"He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter -- the boy who lived!'"_

                In the following silence, I imagine Chakotay checking on our boys one last time, tucking the bedclothes around them and bending to press a whiskery kiss on their smooth foreheads. I strain my ears to hear the words, whispered in his native language, with which he blesses the children each night. It is in these moments, these fleeting moments of stillness when _Voyager_ is quiet and we are free to be the family we were meant to be, that I love him and our children more than I ever thought possible, more than I ever thought I could love anyone.

                When he emerges from the boys' room, he takes one look at my face and crosses to me in three hasty steps. "Kathryn? What's wrong?" He cups Nina's little head in his palm, a frown crossing his features. "Is it Nina? The Doc said she'd be fine if we put the procedure off until we get through the last of this ion storm."

                I shake my head at him. "She's all right," I say. "It's the book. The story. Do you remember that night when I was on the Chimtat homeworld and you read the first chapter to me?"

                Relieved for the moment, Chakotay smiles and slides onto the sofa beside me, Nina's downy head still cradled in his palm. "I remember."

                "We never got back to it," I say.

                He shakes his head. "Too much happened after that."

                " _Equinox_ ," I say. "Kes and Teero."

                "Quarra. Jaffen."

                "Seven." I lean my head against his shoulder. "We almost missed each other."

                "But in the end, we didn't." He brushes his thumb across Nina's cheek. "Are you sure she's all right?"

                I gather Nina closer to me. "She wasn't very pleased with all the activity today. And I wasn't thrilled about postponing the procedure again. But she's happy and healthy for now."

                "And beautiful."

                "Yes. She'll be fine for another day or two until the Doc is sure it's safe to proceed."

                He wraps his arm around my shoulders. "I'll be glad when it's finished."

                We have talked about this many times over the first few weeks of Nina's young life, but my tenderhearted husband still worries. "It's perfectly safe," I assure him. "The risk is low and the success rate is high. She's going to be fine."

                "I know," he murmurs. "I just…I wish it didn't have to happen. I wish I didn't have --"

                "No," I say. "Stop right there. We knew the risks when we decided to have children. The boys show no trace of the defect. They can't even pass it on. Nina may never develop symptoms, but this is the best way to ensure that she won't. She's going to be fine."

                He lets out a long, slow breath. "You're sure?"

                "Absolutely. So is the Doc and the medical team that reviewed your records, your great-grandfather's records, and Nina's genome."

                He gathers us both close to him. "I imagined this day,"  he says softly. "That night when you were on Chimtat. I thought about what it would mean to be a parent with you. I worried even then that I could pass this thing on."

                "So did I," I admit. "But I meant what I told you then: We'd work together to make sure the children were as happy and as healthy as they could be. I've never regretted having children with you for a moment. I never will."

                "Neither will I." He whispers the words of the blessing again and presses a kiss to Nina's forehead. She coos in her sleep and we both smile.

                This moment, so longed-for and so precious, almost never happened. We almost let time and distance and old wounds come between us. We almost allowed our worst behavior to overwhelm our best instincts. We almost made this moment impossible for ourselves.

                But we didn't. Thank God or the Spirits or fate or the inexorable flow of atoms from chaos to completion and back again, we didn't. We willed this moment to happen, we came together when staying apart might have been easier, and we brought this little family into being in spite of all the odds against us. It is courageous, what we've done. It is joyful and heroic. Sometimes sad, often funny, always surprising. It is proof positive that no power in the Universe is as strong as love.

                Ours is the bedtime story I will hold in my heart for the rest of my days.

-END-


End file.
